


Ain't No Grave - A Traitor's Tale

by coplins



Series: Family Matters [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breeding Kink, Cheating Dean, Dom/sub Undertones, Forbidden Love, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Praise Kink, Sexual Tension, Surprisingly Little Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: Dean's an old man. He's lived a good life and has had more than twenty unfairly happy years with Nick and Mike. All he's had to do to keep the three of them happy, was to keep a secret. He's a traitor. He's given up on his past addictions but developed another instead. It's one that has him chasing around the world repeatedly, and that he could never tell his husband, or boyfriend of.  They're gone now, and Dean decides to finally come clean.





	1. Belgium

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT! THIS FIC'S PRESENT TAKES PLACE IN A DISTANT FUTURE AFTER MICHAEL AND LUCIFER HAVE DIED!** The story is told in flashbacks and will only briefly touch upon how they died and breeze over the grief, **IF** I end up writing about it. They're not the major characters of this fic, and since I haven't yet written it and it might not end up doing so, this fic _isn't_ tagged as an MCD. 
> 
> Dean/Marlon is the main pairing. I hope to keep this less than ten chapters.
> 
>  **THIS FIC CANNOT BE READ AS A STAND ALONE!** If you haven't read _Meet the Family_ none of this will be of interest or make sense.
> 
> Title based on [Ain't No Grave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFHONNO1KCE) by Johnny Cash. A song Dean hears Marlon listening to in Meet the family. It was also foreshadowing for his survival since I'm a sucker for symbolism. ;)

* * *

_When I hear that trumpet sound I'm gonna rise right out of the ground_  
_Ain't no grave can hold my body down_

### Belgium, somewhere near Lac de l'Eau d'Heure

The cabin is locked. Dean walks around it and checks for open windows. No luck there. He walks back to the front again, turns around to briefly scan the surrounding clearing for anyone watching. But there’s nobody there. Only the lake, a field, forest, and a dirt road. Birds are chirping in the spring sun and a squirrel rustles the leaves in the closest tree. Everything is vibrantly green and the air smells of flowers and earth. Dean turns towards the door and procures his lockpicks from a hidden compartment in his jacket sleeve. He goes down on one knee and makes short work of picking the lock like Nick taught him. He slinks inside and draws his gun. This far out in the countryside the silencer is probably overkill, but he’s much more comfortable with it on. Both he and Nick had skirted just on the right side of lucky several times. The last thing he wants to do is get caught red handed by the law, where he is right now. If his suspicions (hopes) are right, this would blow up in his face like he’d headbutted a fucking landmine.

It’s a medium sized cabin with two rooms and a kitchen. The furniture is eclectic, but everything looks comfortable and the colours are muted warm, and cream. The first room holds a fireplace, a TV, a couch and a recliner. There are bookcases filled with books and small odds and ends. Throw pillows and blankets dots the couch and recliner, and a thick fur rug lies in front of the fireplace.

Dean searches the rest of the cabin. His hands are sweating under the gloves, and he’s starting to feel hot now that the wind is no longer chilling him. The kitchen is tiny and holds a small table with two chairs. A look in the fridge and freezer reveals a pleasant surprise. Fresh fish, meat and vegetables. The milk’s in a glass jug and seems to come from a nearby farmer, and the butter’s in a glass container and by the look of it, it’s homemade. The cupboard uncovers a big collection of spices. The kitchen window holds several pots of fresh herbs.

_The sonnova bitch cooks?_

Dean leaves the kitchen to explore the last room. It’s unsurprisingly a bedroom. It holds a queen bed and a desk with a laptop on. There’s an easel with a half-finished painting on. It’s not very detailed. The colours are fantastic, but the motif is amateuristic. One can barely make out what it’s supposed to depict. Dean stares at it until he figures out that the triangular jagged pattern and the blobby ‘i’-shapes are angels standing in a group. He feels a thrill of elation and tampers it down. It could be a coincidence. It proves nothing. He could be in the wrong house. The bed is lumpy, like the comforter has been thrown over pillows in a disarray. He goes to the bed and yanks the comforter off. 

He lets out a soft gasp when he sees what’s underneath. This is what he’s been searching for. 

Proof.

He picks up the stuffed toy nestled by the pillows and holds it to his nose, inhaling deeply. It holds the scent of its owner. He smiles to himself. 

_I **knew** it!_

He rubs the toy against his neck and throat, then inside his shirt, hoping to mark it with his own scent, hoping the owner will notice. Then he puts it down where it was and leaves the bedroom.

He’s heading for the exit when the door suddenly flies open. Dean startles, raising his gun at the same time as a man comes in, pointing a gun at him.

“Heya, papa. Long time, no see,” Dean quips with a lopsided smirk, heart jumping in fright.

* * *

“I always suspected he wasn’t dead,” Cas says, combing through Dean’s greying hair with wrinkled fingers.

Dean leans his head back against the seat of the armchair Cas is sitting in. His arms are hooked over Cas’ knees. He should know better than to sit on the floor at his age. He’s nearing seventy after all. “Yeah. The fucker outlived both his oldest sons. Who woulda thought?”

“Oh, we all thought _that_ ,” Cas chuckles fondly. “Father dying was unfathomable. It’s like if God would die.”

“So what gave it away? Did I fuck up somehow, or was it just the refusal to believe he was dead?”

“A bit of both, I suppose. Your skill at managing big corporations improved vastly at one point. You developed a knack for seeing things only great experience could have taught you. I believed… no. I _hoped_ father was alive and feeding you inside information.”

“Spot on, baby.”

“How did he survive? We all saw the body. We were at his funeral. It was an open casket. I’m certain my father was in it.”

Dean chuckles and opens his eyes to peer at the ageing face of his lover. “I searched him out before the set date, told him I had questions about what he knew about you guys that you didn’t know he knew. I told him I wanted to know before Nick came for him. Told him how long he had to live before Nick would put an end to him. Then I asked him if he knew you had body doubles.”

Cas blinks at him. A gummy grin breaks out on his face, wrinkling the skin around his warm, blue eyes. “Basically you told him to get a doppelganger before he was murdered.”

Dean smiles fondly. “You always were the smartest one.”

“But why did you do it?”

Dean bends his neck and looks away. He shifts uncomfortably. His treason had escalated beyond a stolen kiss and a life saved. “We, um, we’ve got history. There was something about him that pulled me in from the start. I needed him. Nick wasn’t wrong when he told me to stay away, but I don’t think he could foresee the level of my betrayal. I always said I was one man’s man.”

“Hmm. I always considered you more like family property,” Cas jests.

Dean laughs and lets his head fall back again so he can look up at Cas. “You’re more right than you know. Although, Nicky and Mikey wouldn’t have seen it that way.”

“Why do you think I waited until they passed away before I made a proper move on you?” Cas says dryly and winks. “So what happened? With father, I mean.”

* * *

Marlon lowers his gun slightly, but not wholly. “Have you come to take away what you gave?”

Dean mimics him, lowering his gun partway too. “Nu-uh. I’ve got questions.”

Marlon stares at him for a moment. Then his lips quirk in a small smirk. “Why, of course you have, son,” he says and lowers his gun all the way.

Dean puts his gun in the holster inside his jacket and grins when Marlon closes the door. He takes three long strides and catches Marlon in a hug when he turns around. Marlon let’s out a startled ‘ _Ouff_ ’. Dean let’s go and steps away before Marlon can decide whether to reciprocate or not. Dean grabs him by his upper arms and gives him a once over. “You look damned good for a dead guy, pops.”

Marlon huffs in amusement. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.” He puts his gun away on a nearby bookcase. 

“Yeah, you do. How’d ya find a body double so fast? Or did you have one already?”

“I knew of a man who looked eerily like me. I tracked him down and I was in luck. He was out of work, had a sick mother, a wife, and three children to take care of. So I offered to give his family three million dollars if he committed suicide while pretending to be me.”

“Only three mil?”

“I would have paid much more, but that was an amount I had stashed in an account that couldn’t be traced to me. It wouldn’t be discovered after my death. I’ve got no experience of hiding, and when Lucifer comes after me―”

“Yeah, well. You can quit yer worrying. He thinks you’re dead.”

“For now.”

“He’ll keep thinking that. It wasn’t your doppelganger talking to us, though. How and when did you make the switch? The room was empty. We saw it.”

Marlon smirks. “Hardly. He was behind the camera at all times. Our voices didn’t match up at all. So we traded at the last camera adjustment. After he shot himself I hid in the closet, put on a police uniform, a wig, and a mask to cover my nose and mouth. I slipped out when the cavalry had arrived. Walked out the door. With the lower camera angle, my head would be cropped off by the camera if it was still running.”

Dean purses his lips and nods. “That guy must have fucking longed for death. He didn’t even hesitate before he pulled the trigger.”

“That because we had practised the whole thing so many times, coordinating it perfectly. He didn’t know we were live at that particular moment. The first time we practised he was shaking and crying so badly he could hardly pull the trigger.”

“Woah.” It’s mind blowing. One false execution had broken Marlon down. And he’d put his body double through how many? The guy must have doubted his choice to say yes so many times, until he started thinking that the gun would never hold a bullet and it was all a big ruse. 

A small smirk plays on Marlon’s lips, as if he’s reading Dean’s mind. 

Dean clears his throat. “So. How ‘bout that drink you’re always offerin’ me?”

Marlon’s eyes trace the lines of his face for a beat, then “Of course, Sun Child. Make yourself at home,” he says and gestures inside.

* * *

“ _Sun child?_ ” 

“You gonna keep interrupting me, or what?” Dean chastises Cas.

“Oh, most definitely. But ‘sun child’?”

“He once said the sun loved me so jealously she kissed her marks on my skin, to last all through the winter gloom. Your old man was quite a poet.”

“Indeed. Go on.”

* * *

The fireplace is burning merrily. Dean’s shed his boots, jacket, and gloves and is now curled up on the couch with an ordinary drinking glass halfway filled with Cognac. Marlon’s sitting in the armchair beside him. Dean takes out a pack of cigarettes and offers Marlon one. For once, Marlon doesn’t decline. Dean lights it, using Marlon’s golden Ronson lighter.

“You’ve got my lighter.”

“Technically, you’re dead, so it’s mine. But if you want it back, you can have it. I’ll just say I lost it. Nick will be a pissbaby about it, I think, but he’ll live.”

“Does he consider it his?”

“No. But he’s been a fucking mess since you died. He didn’t take it well. One woulda guessed he’d be the least affected by it, since he was about to kill you. But whattaya know, huh?” Dean chuckles. “Here. Take it.” He hands the lighter over. Nick’s reaction to Marlon’s death reminded Dean about the anecdote Marlon had told him about when Nick punched Mike and broke his nose during a boxing match. How he got so swept up in the game that he didn’t think of the consequences.

And consequences there had been. When Marlon died, the ensuing scandal of his suicide and the policy changes that surrounded his death, had led to 58.452 people losing their jobs. They had just been able to start turning things around again, but things weren’t exactly stable just yet. It astounded Dean how one man’s fall could make such ripples. But then again, Marlon _had_ known. He’d always known. That’s why he acted like he did. He acted like a monster for the greater good.

Marlon pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” He takes a deep drag on the cigarette, closes his eyes and leans back in the armchair before slowly exhaling. 

He’s still got it. _It_. He still sits like he’s sitting on the Iron Throne, still fills a room with his sheer presence. He still radiates power, despite wearing jeans, dirty at the knees, and a plaid shirt that has seen too many washes. Maybe he always will? Dean has trouble looking away from him.

Marlon opens his eyes. “How are they?”

Dean lights a cigarette of his own. “Hannah and Dicky’s married and have a bun in the oven. Gabe met a woman that might actually be it for him. Kali is her name. He still jumps around the world like a bunny, though. Castiel is negotiating Hester’s marriage to some guy named Duke Addisburgh?”

“He is a duke. His name is Carl. But he’s married already.”

“Was. He found out his wife was plotting to have him murdered. She’s in jail and he’s divorced.”

“In that case, it’s a good liaison.”

“Hester thinks so too. Anna’s at college, studying to become an actress.”

Marlon makes a face. “Fair enough. Mikey?”

“Mike, Nick and I are living together in Long Island. We built a house of our own.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s been turbulent, but calming down.” Dean takes a sip of his Cognac. “Mmm. This is the stuff you―! Fuck, man. I’ve missed this. I don’t drink. Usually. I've got an addiction problem. But _man_. This is fucking worth the shakes. This shit is the best crap I've ever had.”

Marlon smiles a pleased smile with an edge of pride. “Glad you like it. But why are you drinking at all if you’ve got an addiction?”

“Cuz I've got enough self-control to ride out the withdrawal. I made a decision to never drink when I'm with Mavis, or drink to deny reality. I've never been one to spit in the glass, but it didn’t turn into a problem until I was discarded by the army. I have a need to be needed. It’s fulfilled now and gives me the motivation to control myself. So these days I only drink for pleasure or when I need to, to complete a job.” He takes another drag on his cigarette and taps ashes off in the clay pot Marlon had put beside them, foreseeing Dean’s smoking habit. 

“I'm proud of you, son. I've seen many people fall once an addiction takes hold, my brother aside.”

Dean preens internally under the praise. He wants more. A quick smile and he goes on. “The first months were rough. There was a lot of hurt and repressed feelings between Mike and Nick. Your passing didn’t make it easier. Neither did the business deals shattering in its wake. But we weathered it between the three of us. Nick’s working in the plant nursery now. Luci’s Eden, it’s called. Hester runs an adjacent greenhouse café. Mike works in the family business. Me too, part time. Our home always smells of roses. And Nick’s started to cover up his scars with flower tattoos that Mike draws.”

“Are they... “ Marlon gestures vaguely back and forth. 

“Lovers? Fuck yeah. If they weren't, I don’t think their relationship would have been salvageable. We sleep in the same bed. You know, I hadn't fully realised how close they were. I knew, but at the same time, I didn’t. They’re one. Sometimes….” Dean takes another sip of the Cognac before he goes on. “I'm third wheeling it. I know they love me like life itself, but they're _one_. I can’t compete with that.”

* * *

“You kept him updated about us. That’s nice.”

“Always. He always wanted to know about you. You know, I never did find out what brand the Cognac was,” Dean muses. 

“He made it himself,” Cas divulges. 

“Really? Damn it. No wonder he always had it in carafes. Anyway, nothing more happened at that time. I was on a schedule and had to leave. The next time I tracked him down he was in New Zealand.” Nothing had happened, it was true. But the air had been loaded between them, things getting more electric the longer Dean stayed. In the end, Dean had left after one glass of cognac, fleeing before he did something stupid. But he couldn’t stay away. Not in the long run. Not at all...

* * *


	2. New Zealand

_And if these wings don't fail me,_  
_I will meet you anywhere_

### New Zealand, somewhere by Lake Brunner

Marlon lies on a wooden dock. He's flat on his belly, feeding a school of fish by holding a worm just by the surface, letting the fishes rip off parts of it. When one worm’s gone he takes another one from a jar beside him.

“Heya, papa,” Dean says as he steps out on the dock.

Marlon jerks in startlement and drops the worm. He sits up, turning around.

“How did you find me?”

“ _And if these wings don't fail me, I will meet you anywhere..._ ” Dean sings with a lopsided smirk. “You know that’s not how you fish, right?”

Marlon pours the remaining worms in the water, gets to his feet and huffs. “No, but it’s fun. I get lonely.”

“So you feed fish?”

“I feed any hungry creature that comes along to keep me company.”

“That’s good. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Dean gives him a shiteating smile.

Marlon huffs a small almost-chuckle. “Then I’ll feed you too, I suppose.” He walks towards Dean to pass him by, but Dean holds his arms out, stopping him.

“Now, now. You shoulda learned by now, papa. I’m a hugger.”

Marlon opens his arms wide and steps into Dean’s waiting embrace.

It’s the first time he’s hugged Dean back. It’s a real hug and it dislodges something inside of Dean. He cradles Marlon’s neck with one hand and inhales his scent in relief. The desperation and disappointment he’d felt when he came back to Belgium just to find Marlon’s cabin empty, was unproportional to the nature of their relationship. It had taken seven months of sneaking behind Nick and Mike’s backs to track Marlon down again. “I brought you something,” he says as he lets go of Marlon.

“A present?”

“Hopefully you’ll see it that way. I’ll give it to you after you’ve fed me.”

“Let’s go home then.”

Marlon leads the way to a house in the woods. Not a simple cabin, but a real house this time. It’s less eclectically furnished than the last home was, and the base colours are still cream and beige, but with other warm colours to offset them. A fluffy silver point persian cat meets them at the door. It’s got green, disdainful eyes and meows demandingly. Marlon picks it up and casts a glance at Dean. “If you’re allergic we can eat outside?”

“Nah, it’s fine. So you’ve got a cat, huh?” 

“Darla is the neighbours’. I’m watching her while they’re on vacation. But cats find their way here, and when they do I feed them and care for them if they let me. Who’d have guessed I’d turn into a crazy cat lady after my death?” he jokes and gives Dean a small smile.

Dean chuckles and follows Marlon inside.

A little tour later Dean’s placed on a chair in the kitchen, brushing Darla’s long fur while Marlon bustles around the kitchen, preparing food. Dean’s been served a tumbler of Cognac. Hell, the Cognac is a good enough reason to chase Marlon halfway around the Earth, all by its own. Dean watches Marlon while the cat purrs in his lap. Marlon looks content, singing Johnny Cash’s _A Boy Named Sue_ while he works efficiently, chopping vegetables and filleting fish.

“You like to cook, huh?”

“Love it. It might be the best part about dying. No chef to get offended if you make your own food, and all the time in the world to pick out your wares.”

“I love to cook too. I’m pretty decent. One of my boyfriends was a cook in the army. He dreamed of opening his own restaurant and when we were on leave he’d teach me what he knew. I will never be as good as him, but Nick and Mike loves anything I make. Gabe and I trade recipes. Gabe’s more of a baker. He makes amazing desserts. He’s thinking about opening a shop selling homemade sweets as a side business. I don’t know how he’s supposed to manage, time-wise. When I said that he called me a dumbass and said he’d only have to make up the recipes then hire a couple of dumb schmucks to make them.”

Marlon listens, looking over his shoulder frequently with an open and interested expression. Dean’s guessed he’d want more news about his kids, and by the looks of it, he’s right. “What’s he going to call the store?”

“Trickster Tuesday.”

Marlon laughs. “That fits. I’ll have to keep my eyes open for it.”

They keep talking. Dean does most of the talking, feeding Marlon little anecdotes about his kids. When the food is ready Marlon shoos the cat away. It goes to the door and meows loudly, so Marlon leaves the kitchen long enough to let it out. The food is delicious, and Dean vows that the next time he’d cook for Marlon, hoping to impress him. It’ll be a great bit harder than impressing his sons, since none of them love to cook, if you don’t count Gabe’s sweets.

After dinner they move to the living room on Dean’s suggestion. Dean’s getting tipsy. He feels relaxed and comfortable. He leads the way out of the kitchen, remembers that he forgot his glass of awesome Cognac, and turns on his heel just to smack right into a warm, solid wall. Marlon sucks in a breath and lifts his hands as if to grab him by the shoulders, but stops, hands hovering just shy of touching. Dean remains standing, their chests _almost_ touching. And just like that - it’s back. Their kisses in Marlon’s quarters at the estate seem to have happened mere days ago. The air hums with anticipatory electricity. “I, uh…” Dean swallows, pulse racing. “I forgot my drink.” Marlon’s eyes are blue like the Arctic ocean.

“Then you should go get it,” Marlon says softly, gaze unblinking, locked with Dean. He doesn’t move.

“Yeah…” Dean breathes. He’s frozen to immobility, spellbound by Marlon’s blue gaze, by the heat he radiates, the pink in his cheeks, his scent.

Slowly Marlon moves his hands until he grips Dean’s upper arms. His hands are big, firm, warm through the fabric of Dean’s shirt. Equally slow Marlon shuffles them around, taking tiny little steps to the side until they’ve turned 180 degrees. He lets go, but it still takes a couple of long seconds before Dean can break out of the trance and take a step back with a flustered “Thanks.”

Marlon mumbles some generic phrase and heads onward to the living room.

Dean seeks refuge in the kitchen to get a grip on himself.

‘ _It ain’t cheating if he’s dead_ ’

_STOP IT, you moron! That’s not why I’m here!_

_Isn’t it, though…?_

_No!_

_Then why are you here?_

Dean drains the Cognac and pours himself another drink. He’s here because the pull of the older man in the other room is as strong as any addiction. Because after a few months of not seeing him, not getting to talk to him, Dean’s scratching at the walls, going mad from withdrawal. He’s not sure _why_. He loves Nick and Mike like life itself. More, probably. He’d die for them, he has killed for them, and yet… 

He doesn’t even love Marlon… He doesn’t think so at least. Or maybe he does? It’s just that what he feels for the older man is different than any love he’s ever felt for anyone else. Too strange for him to recognise it as love properly.

An obsession.

A curse.

* * *

  
“I told them that they should watch out when you gave up on your addictions. I told them that you'd replace them with something else. If it wasn’t alcohol, drugs, pills, or cutting, it'd be something you hid from them. I was right. You sought out what was most forbidden for you,” Cas states. “Meeting up with father, feeding him intel like a spy. You always did enjoy the undercover work too much.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, no. You’re jumping to early conclusions.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. I’m almost hesitant to tell you the rest now.”

“Now I’m intrigued. Do go on.”

“Yeah, okay, so―”

“ _Are you decent in there?_ ” Claire’s voice from the other side of the door interrupts him.

“ _Oy._ I haven’t been decent a day in my life, Peaches!” Dean calls out, then sniggers at the prolonged silence that signifies Cas’ adoptive daughter’s fed up eyeroll. Today she’s a sharp 50 years old businesswoman, and her three kids are all between 29 and 32, also working in the family business like her. But Dean often finds her mannerism around him to revert to what it was when she was seventeen and came to live with him, Nick, and Mike to study in the States. She’s Jimmy Novak’s daughter. He and his wife had died from a gas leak at night while Claire was at a sleepover. Cas did the honorable thing, adopting his doppelganger's daughter. She had however found it very hard to adjust to being cared for by a man that looked so much like her dad but was nothing like him.

Claire enters and throws one look at them before relaxing. “Oh, good. You’re actually clothed for once.”

“Contain your disappointment, Peach. You know you want this hot bod,” Dean jokes and gestures at his body with a smirk. It’s a joke, but it might not have been. Claire had had a thing for older men for as long as he’d known her. Something that in her youth had sent him into protective dad-mode more than once.

“Spare me. At your age, I’d have to do all the work anyway.”

“You’re being inappropriate again,” Cas chastises sternly. Dean grins and winks at Claire, who smirks in return. Kindling Cas’ ire is the very reason for the banter.

“Fair enough, Cas. I need you to sign these documents. Then you can go back to your dirty retirement hobbies.” Claire holds up a document and a pen.

“Very well.” Cas waves her over.

Dean leers up at her when she comes over. “You’ve got any stamps for me to lick while I wait for your old man to read it through?”

“I’ve got _something_ for you to lick alright,” Claire deadpans with a meaningful smirk.

“ _Claire._ ” Cas’ voice is a whipcrack, body tensing up behind Dean. 

Dean and Claire hold back their sniggers, sharing a conspiratorial look. Cas silently bristles as he reads through the document. He should know perfectly well that Dean wouldn’t touch Claire with a ten foot pole. Claire certainly knows that. Yet flirting and innuendos between them never failed to get an angry rise out of Cas, and both of them are too much of assholes to stop.

Once she’s left them alone again Cas takes a few deep breaths to calm down. He runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. Supposedly, they’re both retired. Dean doubts the two of them will ever truly retire, but these days they cherry-pick what work they do. “Would you please go on retelling your story?” he bids once he’s started to relax again.

“Alright.”

* * *

The feeling won’t go away. Dean barely dares to breathe as he sits down beside Marlon on the couch. He gives the older man a cocky smirk, as if the skin isn’t still tingling where Marlon touched him. “Here ya go,” he says and gives Marlon a thick envelope.

“My present?”

“Mhm.”

Marlon holds the envelope unopened in his hand, unblinking gaze locked with Dean’s for too many seconds. Sucking the oxygen out of the air to make Dean lightheaded and nervous.

“Thank you,” he says _finally_ and breaks eye contact to open the envelope. It contains photos and a small USB drive. Marlon carefully takes the stack of photos out. There’s a picture of a baby topmost of the stack.

“That’s Eric Marlon Roman. Your first grandchild,” Dean tells him softly just to get to see Marlon’s expression go soft and touched. “He’s one of those colicky babies that won’t stop wailing. Heh. He’s noisy in general. Making all kinds of noises even when he’s content. Must like the sound of his own voice already. Dicky says he takes after his dad. Proud as a peacock.”

Marlon smiles wistfully. “Have they spoken to a doctor about it?”

“Dude. What do you think? ‘Course they have. Eric was recently put on some soy stuff and things got better. Hannah burned her hand quite badly soon after he was born. She had to be hospitalized and couldn’t breastfeed for a while, so she dried up. So he’s a bottle baby.”

“Is Roman a good dad?”

Dean shrugs. Hyper aware of their knees brushing. “I dunno. He works a lot, but he also treats Eric like the prince and heir he is. They seem happy, and I’m not sure but there are whispers that Hannah’s preggers again.”

Marlon snickers lowly in fond amusement. “Just like her mom.” He flips to the next picture, Hannah’s and Dick’s wedding photo. “Look at my little baby girl all grown up. That dress looks almost like her mom’s wedding dress.”

“It is. But she let a seamstress modify it to be less modest and more modern.”

“She looks radiant.”

“Sure was, papa.”

They go through picture after picture. Hester’s café, Anna and her girlfriend―because the Williams are a queer fucking bunch. Cas had been very upset by her relationship with the polo player and had confronted him and his wife, forcing the man to choose. To no one’s surprise but Anna’s, he dumped her to stay with his wife. She’d been devastated. Her college dorm roommate Ruby had been very supportive. _Very_ supportive. So supportive, in fact, that it hadn’t taken long before Anna was over the guy and into Ruby instead. There are pictures of Nick in his nursery, of Michael, of Dean riding Marlin, of all the Williams brood and what they were up to these days. Dean would swear none of them change position while he explains each picture for Marlon, yet by the time Marlon’s holding the last photo their sides are pressed together from shoulder to ankle and Dean’s breathing carefully. His skin is humming even with the fabric of the clothes separating them.

“The, uh…” Marlon’s looking at him again, head turned and neck bent, jarring Dean out of speech. His gaze wanders over Dean’s face like a featherlight touch before locking on his eyes. Dean’s dry swallow appears thunderous in the silence. Marlon’s done this many times while they’ve sat like this. Each time Dean swears he can feel the gaze. Tracing the bow of his lip, caressing a cheekbone, or tickling the bridge of his nose. Each time Dean’s words stick in his throat and will only come out low and intimate, broken by nervous laughter. “The flash drive holds the files for the pictures. And a couple of pictures Mike painted that would look silly on such small prints. And, uh…” Marlon’s glacial blue stare is unwavering. “Anna’s… Anna’s first movie role. It’s just a five minute short, but she got the lead.” Dean runs out of words, licking his lips nervously, hypnotized and self-conscious all at once.

“Thank you, Dean. This was a very thoughtful and appreciated gift,” Marlon says, voice a smooth rumble. He puts the envelope and its content on the table in front of them, without breaking eye contact.

“I was hoping you’d like it, papa…” His voice comes out embarrassingly rough. He tries clearing his throat to no avail. His mouth’s too dry, pulse fluttering. He licks his lips again. Marlon leans back slowly, twisting his body to face him, one arm shifting to the backrest behind Dean.

The air is quavering with anticipation.

“In my adult life, I’ve never asked for gifts. I’ve been given many. People who aim to curry favour from me have bought me both rare and expensive things. Yet, this may very well be the finest gift I I’ve never asked for.” Marlon’s eyes leave Dean’s to roam his face again. They’re too close, yet Marlon’s aura bespeaks contentment and passivity. His cheeks are pinker than usual, lips curved up in a faint, barely there smile. He’s waiting for what will happen next.

Nothing. That’s what the answer should be. Nothing should happen. Dean should get up and go _right the fuck now_.

He’s rooted to the spot. Pulled in by Marlon’s magnetism. Thirsty for the forbidden like he never is otherwise. “Is there…” Dean licks his lips and swallows. “Is there something else you want me to gift you, that you won’t… ask for?”

Marlon’s voice drops an octave. “You’re the partner to two of my sons, Dean. Loyalty is everything.”

Dean leans closer, looking at Marlon’s lips, watching the pink tip of the tongue dip out to wet them, leaving them glistening. When Dean speaks his voice is so rough he barely recognizes it. “It ain’t cheating if you’re dead.”

Marlon’s lips curve up almost imperceivable just before Dean’s closed the distance. His mouth opens to receive Dean and it’s just as electrifying as the last time. It’s giving Dean chill upon chill, raising every hair on his body. The kiss is soft and slow, like dipping your toes in a lake before you take a plunge. 

Dean raises a hand to touch. No sooner does he feel Marlon’s warm chest under his fingers before Marlon captures his hand in his own. Not until Marlon pulls back does Dean realise his eyes have fallen shut. Both their breath are rough, strained beyond what a kiss merits. He opens his eyes to find Marlon's pupils blown wide, glazed with a feverish shine. Marlon lets go of his hand to pat his own knee. No words are necessary for Dean to slip up to straddle him. He puts his hands on the backrest behind Marlon and leans in to steal another kiss while the first still tingles on his lips. This one’s deeper, hungrier, declaring intent and craving for more. When they break it―eons later―to get air, Marlon blinks dazedly at him. 

“I’m but a novice in the fleshful fantasies of men. Will you let me explore and familiarize myself undisturbed, with the libertine temple I aspire to worship in?”

“Yes, papa.”

A muscle by Marlon’s eye twitches. “Must you call me by a fatherly sobriquet while we divulge in licentious acts? I beg, don’t make a nefarious deed even more flagitious.”

Dean smirks lopsidedly. Most people he’s been with, himself included, get cruder in their speech when they get aroused. Not so with the Williams patriarch. Dean would mock him for it if he didn’t find it so goddam erotic. “Whatever you say, papa,” Dean teases. He's passed the point of no return. He probably did that already when he decided to go after Marlon in the first place. Maybe he'd been fooling himself to think otherwise. 

Marlon huffs. “Fair enough,” he concedes, but he isn’t all that pleased about it. The displeasure doesn’t last long. He grabs Dean’s shirt and pulls it off of him, dropping it on the couch beside them, then exhales a sound of appreciation as he soaks Dean’s naked chest in with his gaze. “The pixies have danced all over your golden hide,” he murmurs, touching freckles with his fingertips and leaving a trail of fireflies buzzing under Dean’s skin. Dean’s nipples peak under the swipe of two thumbs, forcing a helpless gasp. Then Marlon leans forward to kiss him, drinking his taste, taking him over like a sweet poison. A drug better than anything, coursing through his veins, driving him punch drunk crazy, eradicating any guilt or the sense of existing in a world connected to time or space.

It’s fucking hard to remain still while Marlon brings him to life and awareness of his body, inch by inch with his fingers and mouth. But Marlon had asked him not to move while he got to know Dean’s body. Sure, he also asked Dean not to call him daddy while they fucked and accepted the disobedience, but Dean _wants_ to please him.

Marlon’s hands leave Dean’s front to bless his back with explorative touches and suddenly stills. “Are these scars from your military days?”

The little laugh escaping Dean is more of a hysteric giggle cut off by a swallow. “No.”

“Show me?”

Dean feels dizzy when he glides off Marlon’s lap and gets to his feet. He backs up a step, until the back of his legs are pushed against the coffee table, then turns around. Marlon’s gasp is satisfying. “I didn’t think you’d adorn yourself with such abominable tattoos as those you had when I saw you in the elevator. But this… this is more like the artistry I would expect you to accept. Except I hadn’t expected it in the form of scars. Care to share its meaning?”

“Yeah. Your sons, Mike and Nick, they say I’m an angel who saved them from hell. I’d say I’m no angel, but if I am, my wings burned up in the fall and got scorched into my skin.”

“I like the analogy.”

“Mike drew the sketchwork and Nick carved. Afterwards they nursed me like two mother hens to make sure I healed properly,” Dean offers.

“My… my sons did this?” Marlon’s voice is full of wonder.

“Heh. Sure did, papa. They’re both very creative. Nick has, um, yeah okay so he’s a sadist? And when I let him he’s been creating art in the form of bruises on my skin. Hurts like a bitch, I’ll admit that, but he makes it worth it by giving pleasure and freedom of thought at the same time. Afterwards I’ll stand in front of a mirror and fucking marvel. When I say art I mean it. Like trees and shit. It’s fucking beautiful.”

“I don’t want to voice what I think of my son’s sadistic urges, except this is the first time I’ve seen him put them to a use I can get behind. This is remarkable.”

Dean bites his lip, cheeks heating up. “Thank you, papa.” He feels Marlon’s lips tracing the scarred wings, breath hot and tickling. “ _Fuck._ ” He has to fist his hands in an effort to remain still.

“Care to move this to the bedroom?”

“Yeah… yeah, let’s do that.”

* * *

“You’re telling me you slept with Father?”

Dean bursts laughing. “ _Dude._ You’re not seriously telling me you didn’t realise that that’s where this is going until now?”

“I find the very notion…” Cas smacks his lips as if he’s tasting something strange he can’t place. “Completely unthinkable,” he finishes.

“Yeah, well. Better think it.” Dean takes up his phone, unlocks it, finds his gallery and opens a picture before handing the phone over with an amused smirk. The picture is of him leaned against Marlon’s chest post coitally. Their hair is matted by sweat, eyelids heavy, cheeks rosy, and smiles sated. Marlon’s got his head turned to nuzzle Dean while looking at the camera. His arm is slung possessively over Dean’s shoulder to rest around his chest. It’s not taken that first time, but it’s by far the most risky photo Dean’s ever taken and kept, transferring it to each new phone except burners, knowing full well the danger if Nick or Mike ever saw it.

Cas stares at the photo with an empty expression. “You slept with father,” he states with the tone of voice you’d use when you repeat someone’s claim that they saw a pig fly by just a minute ago, that vampires are real, or that they can hear God speak to them. “Father fornicated with a man.”

Dean cackles happily. Cas looks as if his whole reality just shifted and he’s having trouble coping.

Come to think about it, it’s probably exactly how it is.

* * *

Every cell in his body is burning with want. He’s shivering, trembling with it. There isn’t an inch of him that Marlon hasn’t touched, hasn’t put his lips to, and while Dean’s naked as the day he was born, the fucking asshole isn’t even out of his clothes yet. “ _Pleasepleaseplease, come on just fuck me already!_ ” Dean begs, arching of the bed, whiteknuckling the sheets because Marlon asked him not to touch and he hasn’t given permission yet. Yeah, no, he has. When Dean said he wanted to touch him he said ‘I’m not hindering you. I’m merely stating a wish that you don’t.’ It’s a fucking trap and Dean knows it. A test of willpower and discipline and fuck if Dean’s going to fail and disappoint him.

“I don’t have the lubricant required for it.” Marlon’s breathing rough, eyes feverish and wanton just like Dean’s. He’s sitting between Dean’s legs, lips kissbitten red.

“Fuck sake.” Dean rolls to grab his pants on the bed beside him and comes back with a pack of lube and a condom, throwing them to Marlon.

Marlon catches them and looks down on the items in his hand, then he meets Dean’s hungry gaze. “I want to flood your belly with my seed.”

Dean catches himself before a hysterical laughter escapes him, but it’s a near thing. Like father, like son. He should have guessed it by how many kids Marlon had, by how close in age they were. Dean sits up, snatches the condom out of his hand and throws it to the corner of the room. He hooks a hand around Marlon’s neck and with an intense gaze demands, “Knock me up, papa. Put your fucking baby in my belly.”

Marlon hisses between his teeth, lips drawing back to a feral snarl matched by his eyes. He shoves Dean in the chest, making him fall back, unbuckles his pants and lets his cock spring free, angry red and demanding, leaking precome. He rips the lube pack open and lubes himself up, then grips Dean in the bend of his knees and tugs him onto his thighs. He lines himself up and starts pushing in. Slowly, but not slowly enough and it’s all good, just like Dean wants it. Once he’s fully sheathed he pulls Dean up to sit on his lap, attaches himself to Dean’s lips and starts fucking, proving that he too can be an animal. All Dean can do is cling on for the ride. Dean comes embarrassingly fast. Maybe not surprisingly since the foreplay must have lasted at least two hours. Marlon doesn’t relent for a second. When Dean goes limp he hugs Dean closer to his body, one hand around his back, the other cupping his ass to help lift him and slam him back down on his cock while fucking upward without pause. It must kill his thigh and stomach muscles yet he shows no signs of needing to pause. Sweat beads his face, rises as steam from both of their bodies, soaks up in the fabric of Marlon’s shirt.

“ _Please_ , Marlon. Come in me. Come inside of me. Fill me up. _Marlon_.”

Marlon’s eyes fall shut, he cries out, spasms, digs his teeth into the meat of Dean’s neck and yeah, that’s gonna be a problem, but Dean’s far beyond caring about being marked up. Marlon falls forward, heavy on top of Dean, grinds, milks himself inside of Dean, emptying every drop he can wring out with pained moans before finally stilling.

For ages they just lie panting, heart beats slowing, synchronizing. The realisation of how monumental Dean’s misstep is starts seeping into the marrow of his bones. Yet he can’t find himself caring. Not now. This was fucking destined to happen. At least once. Yeah. It’ll only happen this one time. When he leaves tomorrow, the day after that, whenever, he’ll never come back.

Funny how he actually believes himself at this moment.

“I want you naked,” Dean bids, lips against the shell of Marlon’s ear.

“Anything you want…”

* * *

“I was fucking dumb, thinking I could keep away. Although, the next time I saw him, I wasn’t actually looking for him. I’d tried to find him but the bastard switched location too fucking frequently. Every time I found one of his dwellings they got more central, less reclusive. More people could identify him. Your old man was made to rule. He was made of pure power and you can’t just stop that.”

Cas is still slightly dazed from the realisation that his dad was bi and that they’ve shared a lover. “So where did you find him?”

“Vegas. I was with Nick and Mike to watch a title fight.”

“Boxing.”

“Yup. You can’t wash the spots from the pelt of a leopard. So there he was. That glorious bastard…”

* * *


End file.
